


Come to Me, My Sweetest Friend

by imfallingforyoureyes102



Series: We Mend Each Other [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Felicity takes care of Oliver, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Lonely Oliver, Mutual Pining, Oliver crashes a Smoak Thanksgiving, Oliver is alone, Protective Felicity Smoak, Protective Oliver, Slow Burn, Thanksgiving, oliver gets hurt, sad Oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 03:18:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imfallingforyoureyes102/pseuds/imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: It's Thanksgiving and all the Smoak girls have gathered at Felicity's small apartment to celebrate, including her snooty cousin and her turkey burning prone mother. As much as she loves her family, Felicity's just about ready to stab her self in the neck with a candy cane, but then a knock on the door brings a badly wounded Oliver Queen into her arms and it's a frantic dance between hiding Oliver in her room, nursing him back to health, and whipping up some cranberry sauce that has Felicity's head spinning.“Felicity.”She swallows, mouth dry as Oliver glances down at the small needle in her hands.“I trust you.”Oliver lets his eyes fall shut after the admission, leaning back against the counter, and for a second Felicity is stone still.“The thing is, buddy ole pal, I don’t think you should.”





	Come to Me, My Sweetest Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! Long time no see! Hope you enjoy, sorry if it seems a bit off. I've been trying to get back into the swing of writing and have been a little off my game recently.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please please please comment and let me know what you think!

Donna’s in the process of burning the turkey when Felicity hears a crash just outside of her apartment door.

 It’s not loud, but it’s not quite either, and it’s enough to make her jump a little too far to the left and slam into her ditzy, glitzy cousin. She’s almost upset at the fact that cranberry sauce is now spilled down the front of her grumpy cat t-shirt, but then she realizes that the red goop is also on Emmeline’s Cartier bracelets, so she’s not all that mad.

It’s only when Emmeline retaliates with a full-fledged shove at Felicity’s torso that she thinks she’s just about done with the holidays forever.

It’s not that she’s a humbug. _God, no._ Felicity _adores_ the holidays. In fact, just this afternoon, Oliver nearly had a heart attack when she had come bounding in after lunch with a grin so wide and cheeks so flushed and a handful of arrow shaped candy canes and _Jesus Christ, Felicity, that one nearly took my eye out._

No, Felicity Meghan Smoak takes to the holidays like a bee to honey. What really nips the joy of all of that in the bud, however, is the unavoidable reunion of the Smoak girls.

“What the fuck, Lissy!”

“It wasn’t on purpose, Emmy, don’t pop a blood vessel.”

“As if. I have a photoshoot next week and I will _not_ let your clumsy four-eyed-self _ruin_ it for me.”

“Oh, I’ll show you clumsy fou-,”

“Girls, please,” Donna cuts in, looking tiredly between her daughter and niece. “Can’t this wait until after dinner?

It takes Felicity a mental countdown from 3 to reel in her desire to dump the entire gravy boat of sauce onto her cousin, and that mental restraint is almost tossed down the front of her shirt like the cranberry sauce when Emmeline’s nutsack of a fiancé starts spewing out nonsense facts about his new “startup” and all the “success” he’s struggling to manage.

“Ya know,” Aubrey starts, and Felicity has to take a second to smile at the one cousin in her fracked up family that actually ended up sane. “All we gotta do is take a jump through your back window and we’re outta here.”

“At this point, I’m highly considering -,”

Felicity jumps when she hears the noise again, except this time it’s more of a knock than anything else.

She quietly slips away from the mess erupting in the kitchen, letting out a long breath, but the relief she feels is snatched away the second she opens the door.

_Oliver._

“Hey.”

She can see the blood on his side seeping through his jacket – she can see the jagged cut that can only be the aftermath of a bullet. Yet, it’s the fact that he’s still in his leathers that really scares her – that he’s still strapped with his bow and arrows and his mask is fixed tightly to his face. He’d never be so rash as to wander the halls of her apartment in anything but civilian clothes. Hell, if it were any other normal Thursday, Oliver would have been climbing in through her back window instead of knocking on her front door.

But then he speaks, and Felicity wants to cry.

It comes out all raspy and forced and so full of something far worse than grief. She’s heard him in pain before – heck, she’s seen him tip toe the line between life and death far too many times.

 But the way he leans against the door frame clutching his side – the way his face is pale white and his lips are drawn in a tight line and his forehead is crinkled just between his brows – make Starling City’s resident vigilante look like a downtrodden, heartbroken little boy.

“Oliver,” Felicity whispers, half in fear half in anger. “What the hell were you doing out on patrol? I told you to call me if you went -,”

She trails off when she sees a sad smile pull at Oliver’s lips.

“S’was thinkin’ ‘bout my mom,” he breathes out, his voice scratchy and worn. “S’wasn’t the best cook, but Thanksgiving was always the day she tried.”

He lets out a rattled laugh, his eyes starting to river with unshed tears, and Felicity wants to hit herself on the head for how stupid she had been.

_Of course, he misses his mother._

Felicity had been so caught up in figuring out how to survive her own family during the holidays that she had forgotten just how grateful she should be that she still has one. Oliver has always been such a sturdy and immovable force that after the whole Slade fiasco just months prior, she had fallen for the façade that Oliver had plastered over himself for the rest of the world to see.

She can feel her chest contract as Oliver’s eyes drop to his feet.

“And I still can’t get a hold of Thea,” he mumbles out, and when a lone tear escapes his eyes and falls down the length of his face, it’s Felicity who is pulling him in through the door and into her arms.

There aren’t really any words to exchange but, then again, that’s always how it has been between the two of them. Soon enough, Felicity is running her hands all over Oliver’s body, checking for bones out of place or bumps and bruises and even though it only ever barely eases the worry in her mind, the action has become a part of their routine after every mission, big or small.

It’s the feel of Felicity’s small arms draped around Oliver’s middle and the tickle of her hair under his nose that are enough to quell the building tsunami that is about to burst within him. And, for a second Oliver doesn’t care that his mother is gone or that he can’t find Thea because he’s warm and he’s held and he’s home.

It takes the warm liquid seeping into Felicity’s shirt to snap her back to reality. That, and the fact that Oliver has become a lot heavier against her than he previously was.

And suddenly it’s all too much – it’s a pale face and unfocused eyes and unsteady feet, and an _I don’t feel so great_ that has Felicity drawing away from him and pulling his face down.

“Oliver,” she starts, and her heart skips a beat because the eyes that are normally so clear and insistent are barely even there. She cups his jaw in her hand, gently stroking her thumb over the patchwork of stubble to get his attention. “Oliver, you need to tell me what happened. Do you think the bullet’s still in there? Was it laced with something?”

Oliver only offers a slight shake of the head, but it’s accompanied with a low grown, and Felicity’s already running through all of the people she could possibly call. Digg’s at Lyla’s parents, Laurel’s visiting her mother out in Central City, and Roy’s been trying to track down Sin and Felicity wants to bash her face in because _everyone_ had somehow moved on with their lives while Oliver had taken a one way downward spiral to grief and anguish town.

She must be talking out loud because Oliver suddenly goes rigid as he gasps out “No hospital, F‘Licity.”

“Okay, okay, but - ,”

“Lissy?”

The two freeze, Oliver’s eyes finally gaining enough clarity to focus on the pile of coats and shoes jumbled up near Felicity’s front door. It’s also then Felicity realizes they are both quite literally tangled up in each other.

“Shit, Felicity, I’m sorr-,”

“Oliver, hush.”

“Felicity, hun, who was at the door?” Felicity cringes as she hears the sound of her mom’s six-inch heels clacking against the hardwood floors.

“Uh, no one! Just the mail guy!”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Oliver whispers.

“Right,” Felicity closes her eyes and takes a breath. “It’s just the mail guy who’s also my neighbor. Ha! Convenient, right? Always gettin’ my mail bright and early, like breakfast in bed. _Not_ that he’s in my bed -, ”

Felicity drops her head against Oliver’s shoulder as she scrunches her face up.

“I’ll be back in a sec! Gotta, uh, put the - ,”

She trails off as she starts to drag Oliver towards her bedroom, and as much as she wants to whack Oliver upside the head when she hears a small chuckle fall from his lips, it’s also the only thing that pulls together any of the sanity that’s left within her.  

They’re halfway across the living room when she catches a glance of the two of them in the mirror and she lets out a small laugh. It comes out sounding like the strangled yelp of a drowning rat, though, because trying to support a deadweight Oliver is like trying to make only one trip from the car with a pile of groceries meant for outlasting an apocalypse.

“What?” Oliver frowns at the loud noise, his eyes falling down towards Felicity’s very out of place grin.

“Ha,” Felicity covers her mouth with her free hand as more giggles escape. She points to the large mirror hanging on the wall. “Look. Twins.”

Oliver glances up at the mirror, and he rolls his eyes when he follows Felicity’s finger from his somber scowl to the frowning cat on her T-shirt.

Felicity wipes the smile from her face. Her eyebrows furrow as she flourishes her shoulders back.

“Right, sorry. No time for jokes.”

She doesn’t see it, but for a second there is no sadness or pain or anguish on Oliver’s face. There’s just the slight upturn of his lip and a calmness in his eyes that he feels wash throughout his entire body. He knows, just as she does, that there is _something_ there _._ That, even after all this time of trying to avoid crossing the line between CEO and executive assistant – between friend and something more – that there has _always_ been an unavoidable pull between the two of them.

But he ignores it, just as he always does, and when Felicity starts to move again he dismisses the sudden urge to find out what her lips feel like against his with the shake of his head.

It’s only after Felicity has managed to get Oliver out of his jacket and propped up against the counter in her bathroom that she can really see just how much blood he has lost. She insists that he get in her bed – ‘ _Not like “get in my bed” in a sexy time way. More like “get in my bed” in a -you know what, I’m gonna stop talking’–_ but Oliver isn’t too keen on staining her sheets with his blood.

“Besides,” He says, “Lighting in the bathroom’s better for stiches.”

Felicity freezes a that. Sure, she had stitched him up before. But those had been small wounds – _tiny_ ones, child’s play. And they had always been done under the watchful eye of a certain John Diggle.

 _This –_ this bullet graze draining blood out Oliver’s side – was far, _far_ worse.

She hates that she has a suture kit under her bathroom sink specifically for circumstances like this one. She hates that Oliver doesn’t really seemed fazed by the fact that it’s a holiday and he was so in his head that trapezing around the city and getting shot had seemed like a good idea. She hates that she can’t tell if the stain on her favorite T-shirt is cranberry sauce or the blood of the man she has come to adore, respect, and love.

But what she hates most is the complete trust Oliver seems to have in her.

Because he shouldn’t.

Felicity can feel her hands shaking – Oliver can too – but where there is fear of harming him exploding in Felicity’s wide eyes, there was nothing but faith in the eyes of the man before her.

“Hey, hey,” Oliver grasps Felicity’s trembling hand with his steady one. His voice comes out barely above a whisper, and it petrifies Felicity because she doesn’t know if he’s trying to be gentle or if he’s bleeding internally. But when she looks up into his eyes her breath catches.

Because there are crinkles around his eyes. Because he’s giving her _the_ smile – the smile that she’s only ever seen him give her or Thea. She doesn’t think that he knows he does that, but it still warms up every single piece of her heart.

“Felicity.”

She swallows, mouth dry as Oliver glances down at the small needle in her hands.

“I trust you.”

Oliver lets his eyes fall shut after the admission, leaning back against the counter, and for a second Felicity is stone still.

“The thing is, buddy ole pal, I don’t think you should.”

“ _I trust you.”_

“Oliver, please.”

Oliver just hums in response, and even though she knows she really shouldn’t be wasting any time, Felicity can’t help but stare at him for a second. His face is completely relaxed – completely void of any tension or fear or pain. She can feel the rise and fall of his breath from where her hand is placed against his bare torso, and the sheer conviction with which he says those words leaves Felicity with a warm feeling in her stomach.

“Okay,” Felicity breathes out, more to herself than to him. “Okay. I can do this.” She gently runs her hand under Oliver’s jawline, her finger brushing over his lips. He’s too far gone to respond at this point – all he really does is lean his head into her palm a bit – but it’s enough to snap Felicity into action.

“If you die on me, Oliver Queen, I will _murder_ you.”

 

***

Felicity is just finishing securing the gauze across Oliver’s abdomen when she hears her bedroom door handle rattle. She jumps as Oliver’s eyes flash open, and for a second they’re both teenagers hiding away from their parents in a desperate attempt to not get caught.

“Lissy, what are you doing?”

“Lissy?” Oliver rasps, a slight trace of humor lacing his voice.

Felicity turns to face him, her mouth pinned in a small scowl.

“Felicity? You can’t just not help make dinner, it’s not fair.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Geeze Emmeline - ,”

“What are you even doing in there?”

Felicity jumps up and over Oliver when Emmeline starts to shake the door handle.

“Hey! Don’t break my door, I said I’m coming.”

She swings the door open, angling it just enough so that her bathroom is out of view.

“I just have to finish something, give me a sec,” she says to her cousin as she tries to nonchalantly lean against the door.

“What,” Emmeline starts, “Is all over you?”

Felicity looks down, her face paling when she realizes that maybe Oliver had had a point in not laying down on her bed.

“It’s a – it’s not blood if that’s what you.. Ha! Wouldn’t that be something,” Felicity throws a nervous glance towards her bathroom, not at all appeased when she sees Oliver trying to stand up. “It’s a – cranberry sauce!”

Emmeline steps back at the sudden exclamation.

“Geeze Lissy, I _know_. You already dumped half of it on me. That was a rhetorical question,” Emmeline rolls her eyes at her cousin. “You’d think you’d just murdered someone or something.”

Felicity plasters what she thinks is a joking smile on her face – she really doesn’t know if it’s passable, though, because there are enough nerves and jitters dancing around in her stomach to make her feel like a fucking butterfly.

“Just hurry up. You’re mom’s a sweetheart but she’s no cook -,” Emmeline starts snidely.

_BANG!_

“Is there someone in there - ,”

“Nope! I’ll be out in a bit,” Felicity slams the door shut and flips the lock, only daring to breath when she hears the click clack of her cousin’s heels moving towards the kitchen and the sound of her gushing over her fiancé.

“Thank God for tiny attention spans,” Felicity whispers to herself, already moving quickly towards the bathroom.

Oliver’s slumped against the counter and a bottle of her Cotton Sea Mist hand soap is spilled everywhere on the floor. Oliver flashes her a tired, sheepish smile.

“I tried to get up.”

“I can see that.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“You _really_ shouldn’t have.”

They stare at each other for a minute, Oliver up at her from his slouched position on the bathroom floor, Felicity down at him with her hands on her hips and a red-stained Grumpy Cat shirt.

It’s so domestic and so _not_ at the same time, and for a second Oliver doesn’t feel the pain in his side or smell the anesthetics that are permeating the air.

Instead, he sees a short blonde with black rimmed glasses and pink stained lips and a mess of curls and mismatched socks and suddenly he’s absolutely okay with where life has brought him, because it has brought him to this _._

“Okay, we gotta get you in my bed,” Felicity squeezes her eyes shut the second the words are out and it’s a laughing Oliver and an _I know what you meant_ that get her to open her them.

Felicity is able to find an old pair of sweats that her roommate’s boyfriend had once left in their dorm room, and she doesn’t know exactly how, but they somehow manage to make it to her bed in one piece. As much as Oliver tries to play off the pain from the wound, Felicity can see the way his lips draw tight whenever he moves.

She’s in and out of the room several times. If it weren’t for her mother attempting to burn down the house only a few feet away, she would have gladly spent Thanksgiving locked away behind her bedroom door with Oliver.

“Oliver, please take these, it’ll help with the pain.”

“M’fine.”

“Oliver. Please.”

“Doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Felicity has half a mind to wedge her finger into his bandage, but she settles for handing him her TV remote and offering him a blanket.

“I’m sorry about the no shirt thing. I mean, you can try one of mine on if you want, but it’ll probably make us both uncomfortable.”

Oliver laughs, his smile lingering as he takes in Felicity’s figure by the door.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come out for dinner? I can come up with something – I swear I can lie better than I did before. At least better than you.”

Oliver shakes his head. “M’good right here.”

“Okay,” Felicity says softly.

“Okay.”

Felicity is just stepping out of her door to get Oliver _something_ to eat when she nearly runs Aubrey over.

“So, is the Oliver that’s in there the same Oliver that’s your boss?”

“Holy frack Aubrey! Don’t do that to me!”

“Don’t avoid the question, ‘Lis.”

“There’s no one in there.”

Aubrey reaches for the handle. “Right, so I’ll just pop in and - ,”

“No!”

Aubrey stops, turning slowly with a taunting smile playing on her mouth. She shakes her head.

“I’m just messin’ with you, ‘Lis. It’s good that he’s here, especially on the holidays. I saw what happened on the news.” She squeezes Felicity’s arm. “Gotta take care of your boy, right?”

Felicity just stares at her cousin, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Besides,” Aubrey starts as she walks away. “Glad you’re finally getting’ some action.” She gives Felicity a small slap on her butt before stalking off.

“Oh my god,” Felicity whispers to herself. She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. “Oh my god.”

***

When Felicity re-enters her room ten minutes later everyone is just starting on desert. Oliver glances up at her from his spot on the bed.

“Hey you,” Felicity says, brandishing a plate of food. “Thought you might be hungry.”

She slowly climbs up on the bed and settles down across from him with her legs crossed. She hands Oliver the plate and smiles when he starts scoping the mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“Felicity,” Oliver says, setting down his fork to look at her. “Go spend time with your family. I’m fine, really.”

“Okay one,” Felicity says. “You’re not fine, or you weren’t earlier. You really scared me, Oliver.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, resting his hand on top of hers. “I’m sorry.”

Felicity swallows hard and looks down.

“Two,” she says, voice tight, “You’re my family too, Oliver. You know that, right?”

Oliver smiles then – a real smile, with all his teeth and everything – and he has to look away for a second to blink away the dampness in his eyes.

“Of course I know. You’re my best friend,” he murmurs, and suddenly Felicity is back to the first time Oliver had spent the night in her bed – to the night where she had thought that he had been too out of it to say anything he really meant.

They share a look with each other, and even though neither of them can really say it know, he knows that she knows that he meant _exactly_ what he had said that night.

Oliver’s smile starts to fade and his head tilts in question as his eyelids begin to flutter.

“Felicity, what’d you put in these potatoes - ,”

“Ah,” Felicity starts, a sorry grin gracing her features. “Those would be the pain killers.”

***

It’s half past one in the morning when Oliver jolts awake. It’s too dark to see much but there’s a hand brushing the hair off his forehead. It can’t be Felicity, though, because she’s curled next to him, the tip of her nose just barely touching his side.

For a second, he’s six years old with a broken leg again and the hand on his head is his mother’s. But then he blinks and it’s the warm smile of Donna Smoak that he sees. He starts at that because even though he doesn’t have his leathers on anymore, he’s still sporting a wrapped-up abdomen and bloodied and bruised face. He’s met Donna only a handful of times, but each time he did she had been nothing but kind. It’s that same Donna that he’s greeted with today.

“You’re okay,” she whispers. “You were having a nightmare. Go back to sleep.”

Oliver doesn’t know why he listens – normally he’d be alert and explaining his way out of the situation. He wants to blame the pain killers, but he knows that Donna’s a smarter woman than people give her credit for. If she sees his discarded leather pants on the bathroom floor or his quiver propped up against the dresser in the corner of Felicity’s room, she doesn’t say anything.

Donna keeps her fingers running through Oliver’s hair for a few more seconds, and Oliver’s grateful because while no one can ever replace his mother, Donna Smoak is a close second.

His eyes are already shutting when she shuffles to the other side of the bed to brush a kiss against Felicity’s forehead. Oliver opens his eyes long enough to press his own lips into Felicity’s hair, and it’s to the sound of Donna’s quiet footsteps and the feel of Felicity snuggling closer into him that he finally falls asleep.

 

_end_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my dudes! Please please please please comment and let me know what you think of it! It makes me all warm and fuzzy! :)))


End file.
